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Penway. Ten minutes later, having thrown a few things together into a bag, Kirk took his place at the wheel. Mamie sat beside him. The bag had the rear seat to itself. "There seems to be plenty of room still," said Mr. Penway. "I have half a mind to come with you." He looked at Mamie. "But on reflection I fancy you can get along without me."
The report galvanized Steve, as, earlier in the day, a similar report had galvanized Mr. Penway; but Kirk did not move. "Mr. Winfield!" Still Kirk made no sign that he had heard her. It was discouraging, but Lora Delane Porter was not made of the stuff that yields readily to discouragement.
What part of C'nnecticut? What part " "Because Mr. Winfield's destination has only just occurred to me." She looked at him closely. "You are a curious and not uninteresting object, Mr. Penway." Mr. Penway started. "Eh?" "Object lesson, I should have said. I should like to exhibit you as a warning to the youth of this country." "What!"
How tragic is a man's fruitless fight on behalf of a friend! For one short instant Mrs. Porter allowed Mr. Penway to imagine that the victory was his, then she administered the coup-de-grace. "Don't lie, you worthless creature," she said. "They stopped at my house on their way while the girl packed a suitcase." Mr. Penway threw up his brief.
"Finished?" said a voice. "Oh, I beg your pardon. Sorry." Mr. Penway was gazing at them with affectionate interest from the doorway. Kirk released Mamie and stepped back. "I only looked in," explained Mr. Penway. "Didn't mean to intrude. Thought you might have finished your chat, and it was a trifle lonely communing with nature."
You know your own business best, I suppose, but I should like to tell you that if you do not become a teetotaller instantly, and begin taking exercise, you will probably die suddenly within a very few years. Personally I shall bear the calamity with fortitude. Good evening, Mr. Penway." For some moments after she had gone Mr. Penway sat staring before him. His eyes wore a glassy look.
"On the contrary," she said; "I have got out of you precisely the information which I required, and in considerably less time than I had supposed likely. If it interests you, I may tell you that Mr. Winfield has gone to a small house which he owns in the Connecticut woods." "Then what," demanded Mr. Penway indignantly, "did you mean by keeping on saying 'What part of C'nnecticut?
Among the motley crowd which had made the studio a home in the days of Kirk's bachelorhood had been an artist one might almost say an ex-artist named Robert Dwight Penway. An over-fondness for rye whisky at the Brevoort cafe had handicapped Robert as an active force in the world of New York art.
"C'nnecticut," said Mr. Penway, finally capitulating. "What part of Connecticut?" "I don't know." "What part of Connecticut?" "I tell you I don't know. He said: 'I'm off to Connecticut, and left." It suddenly struck Mr. Penway that his defeat was not so overwhelming as he had imagined. "So you haven't got much out of me, you see, after all," he added. Mrs. Porter rose.
"You are you are most insulting." "I meant to be," said Mrs. Porter crisply. "Now. Tell me. Where has Mr. Winfield gone?" Mr. Penway preserved an offended silence. Mrs. Porter struck the table a blow with a book which caused him to leap in his seat. "Where has Mr. Winfield gone?" "How should I know?" "How should you know? Because he told you, I should imagine. Where has Mr. Winfield gone?"
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